Um Céu Roxo
by Kaihire
Summary: [RanKenKenRan] Chapter 3 uploaded. Sequel to 'Running Away', please see that summary for details.
1. chapter 1

Title:  Um Céu Roxo

Author:  Kouryuu

Rating:  PG (this chapter)

Pairing:  Ran x Ken/Ken x Ran (whichever works out..)

Status:  Series to "Running Away"; part 1 of ?

Summary:  see "Running Away"

Archive:  Please ask first so I know where it's at; archived at 

Contact:  lonestarfruit@yahoo.com

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Author's Babbles:  If you're new to this fic, please go read RA beforehand.  It'll make little sense if you don't.  

For the rest of my readers...  n.n; I know I promised this baby would be out in March, and.. well.  Clearly that didn't happen, and you don't want to hear why (o.O but if you do for some arcane reason, e-mail me and I'll tell you?) but I've felt so incredibly guilty.  Basically, writers' block hit, and now it's finally started to taper off.  This first chapter is more of a teaser than anything else.  I'm working this summer as a full-time medical director (x_x) at a girl scouts camp, so I'll be busy and updates will not be regular by any means.  However, I'm hoping that once I get into a pattern I'll be able to write while I'm here, so I wanted to post the first chapter as soon as I could get it out and get you all dragged into the story again. ^_^ As always, any comments, questions, flames, and all that are welcome.  I'll be slow with e-mail and FF replies (once a week or so should be doable) but please write to me! ;_; The back woods of PA are lonely.

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"Um Céu Roxo" by Kouryuu   

            New York City was warily sinking into its usual spring glory.  Steely snow clouds were replaced by heavier rain clouds, and the inevitable spring downpours washed away the last traces of salt, ice, grime leaving the City sparkling with a grudging, young glow.  The first brave flowers stuck their green noses out in Central Park.  Squirrels blinked sleepily down at joggers from bare tree branches, their poofy tails dew-speckled.  Everything started to slowly wake up from its winter hibernation, as if shrugging off a heavy fur coat.  

            Transformation in the spring was normally slow, creeping up and taking everyone by surprise.  The final moment of metamorphosis came in a burst that startled the City itself: one morning the City awoke and the sky was simply clear, bright blue.  An orchestra of bright flowers competed with neon-green baby grass and budding tree leaves for the spotlight.  A cacophony of birds sang Spring's praises, cheerful and new even if it was mostly the same old weathered pigeons and sparrows.  Somehow the spring managed to bring out the beauty, the _novelty_, of even the simplest sights.

            Ran was only able to enjoy as much of the spring glory as he could see from the stuffy office building's small window, around the bulky frame of his latest client.  The days had seemed to drag on for the past few months, one bleeding into another in an endless procession of clients, politeness, stiff clothing, intermittent gunfire.  The days haunted him because everywhere he seemed to find images that dragged his memories back to a single searing kiss.

            A poster in the window of a travel agency in Little Italy, telling him to fly to Brazil for only $500 round trip.

            An advertisement on television informing him that now was the best time to get a head-start on his sexy summer tan.

            A splash of bright chocolate-colored hair in the crowd, making him do a double-take and holding up the stampede for the subway so that he had to catch the next train in.

            The newspaper, which told him that the Brazilian soccer team was having trouble because their goalie, a young man named Alessandro, had an injury that proved more serious than previously thought, and the team had to miss matches because they didn't have anyone else that could play the goal well.

            It all spun around, dizzying him, making him unfocused.  He had been quite thoroughly knocked off of his neat rail, off of the path that he'd been sure Fate had set for him, off of the path that New York itself had helped to mould.  Ran hadn't been taken for a spin like this in ages, not since the moment -- seared into his memory, hospital sheets and the steady beat of a machine reading off a pulse that remained asleep and unchanging, round pallid cheeks and twin braids lying still and unnatural -- that had shaped him into the man that he'd grown to be.  He had never shed the guise of the murderer since then; assassin, bodyguard, shadowed arm of the law, call it what they will, it was all the same.  The same hot spray of blood spilled in cold indifference, the same glazing of eyes that had once been little, had once grown up, had been developed into something that could only hope for a slick death rather than a lingering pain of going on in a life that had no meaning.  

            Thoughts assuaged him day and night, keeping him from sleep, from waking, from functioning in the same rote practiced manner that he was so skilled at.  And he started to slip.  It was subtle at first, he would show up on time rather than early for work, or he would be curt enough with a client that Charlie would get a complaint, though Charlie kept this from Ran, just observing and starting to slowly develop a sense that he soon identified as a dull concern.  As such things do, these slips began to progress until a bullet got too close.  Reflexes couldn't be dulled by things such as complete distraction, not when they kept someone alive as long as they'd kept Ran alive, and though the Kevlar vest would have kept him alive he still had ducked out of the way before taking his own shot.  A would-be murderer lay dead, and Ran drove the client to Charlie's safehouse before driving himself to the hospital so that the medical team could spend seven hours digging the bullet fragments out of his shoulder in a manner that wouldn't damage the toned muscle.

            He only took a day of leave, as usual.  But the next morning his client wasn't where he was supposed to be, and it was an irritated redhead that wandered up to Charlie's office.  He was favoring his left shoulder, but only slightly so that someone that didn't know how fluid his usual movements were wouldn't recognize it as an injury.

            "My client wasn't at the airport."

            Charlie was on the phone, but he looked up at Ran and nodded, unsurprised, motioning him to sit down.  Ran just crossed his arms over his chest, one hip tipping forward and an eyebrow creeping up in annoyance.  Charlie finished his conversation and hung up the phone with a small sigh.

            "My client..?" Ran prompted.  

            "I sent Stratford to get him.  You need a vacation."

            "I'm fine.  A sore shoulder doesn't mean I can't do my job."

            Charlie leaned forward, looking suddenly exhausted by this discussion.  He was wearing a particularly putrid off-orange tie with dark brown squiggles on it, and he'd chosen to pair it with a classy pale blue dress shirt with white collar and cuffs.  It clashed horribly.

            "You _can't_ do your job, Ran.  You messed up, and remember that I've worked with you for what, three years now?  You never slip up, and frankly I don't care about what problems you may be having.  What I care about is that you're going to become a liability.  You haven't taken a vacation in three years, and I want you to take one now.  Give your shoulder a rest, work out whatever issues you have, and then come back."

            Ran was practically seething, his jaw tight and shoulders squared.  No one had a right to challenge his ability to do his job, and calling him a liability...

            "I don't need a vacation."

            Charlie pulled on his reading glasses -- round, with emerald green frames and distinct bifocal lines -- and picked up a sheet of paper from his file, glancing at Ran over the rim of his glasses.

            "Yes, you do.  And even though you may think that you don't need a vacation, _I_ need _you_.  You're one of the best, if not _the_ best.  Losing you to something stupid would cut back my earnings, and I don't appreciate that.  So."  He set the paper down, leaning back in his seat, hands folded on the desk.  "Let me put it a different way.  You're taking a vacation, or a leave of absence if you'd prefer to call it that.  And since I know you're a cheap bastard, I'll pay for your transport to wherever you care to go.  You leave today, and I don't want to see you again for three months."

            Ran scowled, hands clenching into fists. 

            "What, exactly, am I supposed to do with myself for three months?"

            The phone on Charlie's desk rang.

            "Get laid, for one," Charlie stated casually, then picked up the phone and turned his shoulder away, dismissing the redheaded man.  

            Ran sat on the edge of his bed, a mug of tea in his hand and the phone resting on his lap like an angular feline.  He hated the fact that he was forced to take a break, hated having free time when his thoughts could wander even further and prove dangerous.  He could always go to Austria, he had decided stubbornly.  He had been to Vienna before and it seemed like a good place to visit in the spring.  He could keep himself busy with the museums and palaces, with loud bars and silent side-streets.  At least it was a start.

            But when he picked up the receiver to dial the airline, he found himself dialing the routing number for Brazil.  He caught himself, though, and hung the phone up quickly.  Pale features settled into a frown.  What the hell was he thinking?  He couldn't call Ken.  Not now.

            Months had passed, months in which he'd found himself looking at the phone and at the small slip of paper on which he'd neatly copied the brunette's phone number from a file swiped from Charlie's office.  But every time he'd tried to call, Ran had found himself at a loss.  What could he possibly say?  Ken was in Brazil, he was in New York.  Ran had never been a romantic, would never be one.  A long-distance relationship would not only not work, but it'd be harmful in the long run.  Besides, Ken was his friend.  He shouldn't allow himself to feel anything more than camaraderie for him, not if he wanted to keep in touch with him at all.  Not that he was keeping in touch, though he really should, but if he called he'd only start thinking about that kiss again, about the night in the club and the way Ken's lips had set his skin on fire, and Ken was in Brazil, and it'd never work out...  And so it went, round and round his head every time he looked at the phone until he got a headache, and so months had been allowed to pass.  And now it'd be awkward.  What could he say?  'Hi, Ken.  My boss is forcing me to take a mandatory vacation.  How about I come to visit?'  Maybe if he had a reason.  If he had a reason, then he could convince himself that it was practical, and if he got to see Ken in the process then it'd be good on all sides.  Right?

            The idea hit him as if someone pegged a tennis ball at his head, and he blinked a few times.  It could work.  It was reason enough.  And he picked up the phone, calling another airline instead of Lufthansa.  

--+--

End Chapter 1 

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	2. chapter 2

Title:  Um Céu Roxo

Author:  Kouryuu

Rating:  PG (this chapter)

Pairing:  Ran x Ken/Ken x Ran (whichever works out..)

Status:  Sequel to "Running Away"; part 2 of ?

Summary:  see "Running Away"

Archive:  Please ask first so I know where it's at; archived at 

Contact:  lonestarfruit@yahoo.com

Author's Babbles: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Hope this chapter's up to par. I took liberties with teams and legal systems and whatnot, so as not to tread on any bigwig toes. Assume that any discrepancies are on purpose. n.n;

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"Um Céu Roxo" (chapter 2) by Kouryuu

             It was the dream again, the same one that he'd gotten periodically every few months since the day his world crashed down around him.  He always 'woke' to find himself standing in the same place: the spotlight, the same bright one that blinded him time and time again right in front of the goal.  He couldn't see anyone approaching, he couldn't see the ball flying at him.  All he could see was that bright, burning light, and the only sound around him was the roar of the crowd, deafening and dull.  It started to fade after a moment, like it always did, and he shifted his weight on the turf, the way he always had to, back and forth and back again, testing his footing and his balance.  The adrenaline sped up his pulse and soon he couldn't hear the crowd anymore.  All he could hear was his own heartbeat, loud and pounding in his ears, drowning out any other sound, and he knew then for a fact that he was completely and utterly alone.  It was never a specific match from his memory, never a specific opponent, but it always mattered, this was always the goal that'd make or break the game, it was always the tie-breaker that he had to stop, and he was the sole defense.  Perhaps it was egotistical, but he never saw it that way.  He just knew that the rest of his team was elsewhere, possibly doing something else to defend the goal, but it always came down to him in the end.  He was the goalie; that was his job.

            And then the ball would come, always from a different direction that he could never anticipate, and he'd panic for just one split second because hell, he should have been able to see it coming, he should have expected them to do that.  The same instant he was thinking that, though, his body moved automatically to block the ball, muscles bunching as he launched himself at the spinning projectile with all the ease and practice that his experience gave him, twisting in mid-air, arms outstretched.

            The ball never impacted, neither with him nor with the net behind him.  He just heard the crowd's roar again as the world went completely black (the sort of black, he fancied at waking times when he chose to contemplate the dream, that he'd encountered in tunnels on occasion when missions had required him to enter them, black that defined darkness and transcended it as well because it was just so damned _bright_), and this time the roar of the crowd was angry though he didn't know why... and he'd sit bolt upright in bed, covered in a sheen of sweat and breathing hard as if he'd just been running sprints.  If anyone heard him and came in to check, he just told them he'd been having a nightmare, and they left it at that.

            Ken never really thought of the dream as a nightmare, though, because he'd had nightmares after a few nights, a few missions that'd gone bad.  Hell, all of Weiss had had nightmares.  Nightmares meant fear, complete and utter fear and helplessness and sorrow and anger and all of those emotions that they couldn't show in the waking day condensed and amplified to a purer form and thrust up from the subconscious like a pulsating tumor that had to burst, had to be purged in order for the greater organism to survive.  So this wasn't a nightmare, though it never ended well.  It was simply a dream that he had at times, a dream that exhausted him and kept him from falling asleep again despite his best attempts at going back to bed.  The morning after such a sleep-deprived night he'd walk around in a more somber mood than usual, often with dark circles under his eyes, his smiles hollow, his mind focused on memories of things that he could never again have.

--+--

            "You can't possibly be serious."

            "Trust me, _amigo_, I'm telling you the truth."  

            Ken stared at Alessandro blankly.  The other man leaned forward, dropping a large, tan hand onto Ken's shoulder.  It was a small contact, but somehow it forced the younger brunette to focus and he stood up, temper flaring and voice rising with indignation.  

            "Look, you can't just mess with me like this."  Cinnamon-colored eyes flashed angrily, normally-friendly features set into harsh lines.  He trusted this man, considered him a friend.  Why would he play such a cruel prank--

            "Ken."  Alessandro stood up, graceful despite the way he had to shift his weight off of his injured ankle.  His warm eyes were serious.  One stride and he caught Ken's shoulders, shaking him lightly.  Alessandro half-expected the brunette to react with violence, but Ken just looked up at him with those huge, mistrusting eyes.  "Ken, this isn't a joke.  You know me better than that.  Everything revolves around connections, brother, especially in the world of _futebol_.  You should know that by now."

            Ken shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, his breathing erratic.  "You can't just take something like that back.  You _can't_.  It's a permanent record."  He should never have told Alessandro the truth.  Now things were getting complicated again, just when he'd started to settle into this life...  Brown eyes blinked open as he suddenly found himself yanked into a firm hug.

            "No one knew you back then.  No one was there to refute the accusations, to stand up for you.  Hell, your best friend was the one who lied about you, how could you have even stood up for yourself?  But now you have us.  We're your team, and more importantly, we're your friends."  Alessandro sighed.  "And we _need _you, Ken, whether you want to help us this way or not."

            Ken felt himself shaking slightly, and he could do nothing to stop the tremors.  "How can it be that simple?"  His voice grew smaller.  "How can you ask that of me?"

            "How can you refuse it?" Alessandro shot back.  "Are you really that scared of stepping back into the spotlight?  I never said it was simple but the fact of the matter is that you name has already been cleared.  You know all those drug tests you took side by side with us?  All those years of living here without so much as a parking ticket on your record?  Negative things add up, and so do good things.  We made our case, brought our evidence before them, and you're free to play again.  So far they've only cleared you on a probationary level, to finish off this season, but if you keep being your usual model-citizen self, there's no reason why they couldn't clear you for good."

            Cleared.  His name.  By Them, by the organization that had shunned him and thrown him out so that he wouldn't even think its name nowadays lest a black car pull up and drag him away from this tiny piece of something that he'd carved out for himself after Weiss.  Now Alessandro was telling him that everything was taken care of, and there was a companionable arm across his shoulders, and Ken sank -- rather comfortably -- into the numb embrace of the entity known as shock.

--+--

**_São Paulo, BRAZIL _**_- Soccer fans the world over were stunned today by an announcement by Brazil's national soccer team that one of their assistant coaches, Japan native Ken Hidaka, would be taking over the position of goalkeeper in light of goalkeeper Alessandro del Toro's injuries after the last game played against Argentina.  This announcement comes on the heels of last week's press release which revealed the fact that Hidaka had been banned from playing in the J-League on drug charges and shouldn't have been allowed to even apply for the assistant coach position.  The International Soccer League recently cleared Hidaka's name after a thorough investigation by a private firm hired by the team proved that the previous drug charges had been based on "more hearsay than concrete fact" and documented evidence by the Brazilian team's medical director that Hidaka never once demonstrated anything but exemplary behavior on or off the field since he took the assistant trainer position, officials say.  The team is confident that Hidaka, who had been a goalie in the J-League, will be able to fill in the weak spot in the team's rock-solid defense caused by the loss of del Toro, officials say.  del Toro himself was heard to make such comments in praise of Hidaka as "before Ken [Hidaka] started coaching us, I could never predict where [the ball] was going to come from.  Now I can stop one blindfolded.  He taught me that.  He's just that good."  Fans remain skeptical, sources say, but the team's enthusiasm and del Toro's own support are doing much to boost fan morale.  _

--+--

            "So are you nervous?"

            Ken glanced up from fiddling with his shin guards, an embarrassed smile dancing across his lips.

            "Me?  Why, do I look nervous?"

            Alessandro took a bite out of the red apple he was cradling in one hand, his expression shifting to one of exaggerated thoughtfulness.

            "Mmm...  Only about as nervous as someone running with those bulls in Madrid for the first time."

            He managed to duck the roll of athletic tape that Ken pegged at him, laughing.

            "See!  You _are_ nervous."

            Ken gave up on hoping that the shin guards would stop chafing, and contented himself with just padding the straps with some rolled gauze.

            "Of course I'm nervous.  My palms are sweating so hard that the ball's gonna slide right through my hands and into the goal."

            Alessandro snorted.  "Gloves, you moron.  You'll be wearing my gloves.  Are you forgetting everything already?"

            Ken exhaled heavily and collapsed onto the bench next to the other man, who shifted a bit to make room for him.  Alessandro offered the apple, and Ken took it with a grateful little smile, crunching through a piece as he contemplated his current state of mind.

            "Yeah, I think I am.  I always got like this before games, though.  Once I got out on the field I was fine.  The adrenaline kicked in, everything else blurred out, and all I saw was the field.  But now it's been so long..."

            "It's like riding a bike, Ken.  You never forget how.  And in practice, you never hesitate.  You always give it your all, and you've always trained right along with us."  Alessandro grabbed the apple back, poking Ken's shoulder.  "Seriously, if I had any fear that you'd make an ass out of us or out of yourself, I'd never have suggested this.  But I have faith in you, the team has faith in you, the damned _officials_ have faith in you.  You're the only one who has any doubts."

            The younger brunette ducked his head, shrugging.  He scuffed one of his cleats along the floor.  

            "I just...  I want to do this right, you know?"

            "You will, Ken.  I know you.  You won't mess this up because you wouldn't even know how."

            Ken grinned, making a grab for the apple.  Alessandro yanked it out of his reach.

            "Oh yeah?  I bet I could figure out a way."  He looked up at the ceiling as if watching a pretty bird fly by.  "Oh look, a hawk... and clouds... and an airplane..."

            Alessandro snorted, pegging an invisible ball at Ken's middle.  Ken promptly fell off the bench, clutching his stomach, and both dissolved into laughter.  The older man leaned over, ruffling Ken's hair.

            "Have faith, _amigo_.  You're going to do just fine."

--+--

            Ken's cleats sank comfortably into the turf as he took the first stride back out onto the field, and the spotlights only blinded him for a moment before he regained his bearings and strode with a determined expression towards the goal.  He could feel the crowd's eyes on him, though he knew that they were looking at the rest of his team, as well.  Of course, the crowd's eyes focused more on the new goalie than the rest of their favorites, just because he was a novelty, because there was a strange history there and a foreign bearing that Ken's smaller stature did nothing to dissuade.  In practice and in the locker room, when he was just the trainer and not a player, it was easy for Ken to forget that he was so much shorter than the average Brazilian soccer star.  Now he was acutely aware of the difference in height, and it just made him square his shoulders more proudly.  Alessandro was right; he could do this right, and he'd prove himself.

            Of the eyes that followed the confident strides of the new goalkeeper towards his goal, one set in particular lingered.  It belonged to a man who was jet lagged and had picked up an English edition of the newspaper in the airport while waiting for his luggage.  He had been stunned at the small article on the first page, so much so that he'd immediately hailed a taxi, curiosity drawing him nigh.  He'd had to go to a scalper to get even the crappy seat he currently occupied, but it still afforded him a semi-decent view.  Even though his strange violet-colored eyes were bleary from lack of rest, they remained curiously focused on the new addition to Brazil's team even once the ball traveled to the opposite end of the field.

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/end chapter 2/

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	3. chapter 3

Title:  Um Céu Roxo

Author:  Kouryuu

Rating:  PG-13 (ooh, rating crept up 9_9 for not much at all, so don't get excited)

Pairing:  Ran x Ken/Ken x Ran (whichever works out..)

Status:  part 3 of ?

Summary:  Sequel to "Running Away"; see "Running Away" for full summary.

Archive:  Please ask first so I know where it's at; archived at 

Contact:  lonestarfruit@yahoo.com

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Author's Babbles:

_Zefyr_:  n_n kehehe. You appreciate the Ran-angst! ::cling::

_Nalanzu_:  ^_~ Aww, don't lie, you love the teasing. *koff* I just get plagued by writers' block with this pairing for some reason... but I keep pluggin' along at whatever rate the muses let me.

_Space Lion_:  All anyone needs is Ken-lovin'. It makes the world a happier place. And a Ken without his soccer is just a pitiful little half-Ken, so I had to give it back. I just hope I made it at least semi-plausible...

_Ucchan Kuonji_:  You'll have to wait a bit longer for snogging. ^^; But it'll be in there, I swear, especially since Marty will slay me if I don't write smut in this fic.

_Nauta Iupiter_:  kehehe Oh yeah, Ken's not a happy duckling. n_n And in this chapter, we get to see ::drumroll:: drunk-angst!Ken. Woo!

_Shime_:  Of course it's gonna and in a cliffhanger. I mean, come on. I love abusing my audience. n_n ::ducks sharp objects::

_Kira_:  Ran's ability to angst and wallow in denial is amazing, isn't it? But he's finally getting some sense verbally smacked into him, so w00t.

_Marty_:  _ My favorite ho. Keep waiting for the monkey-lovin' as if Roman lovin' isn't good enough to tide you over. It'll be there eventually, once they get over their issues.

_Krysana_:  I was under the impression that anyone with Brazilian citizenship would be eligible to play on the national team..? If I'm wrong in this regard, please correct me.

Thanks to everyone else who reviewed. ^_^ I thrive on all the comments and death threats and stuff!

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"Um Céu Roxo" (chapter 3) by Kouryuu

            The announcer didn't have to announce who had won the game.  The score board said it all, and the roar of the crowd would have drowned out his obvious words anyway.  And so he sat back and grinned at his partner, and they called it a day while below the winning team rushed out onto the field, hugging one another and yelling in their exuberance, not quite coherent and not quite minding that they made no sense.  Human joy has a tendency to revert men to children and therefore it was a group of children whose glowing faces would make the evening news that night, not the normally-suave players whose mysterious smiles were more familiar.

            It was decided that they'd all head out to a bar to celebrate.  "Get shit drunk!" one of the defenders clarified, and another swung an arm around his shoulders and laughed his agreement.  They moved in unison, all willing for once to compromise and agree and shit, they won and it felt so good..!  Showers came first, of course, since they were all coated in a mixture of mud and sweat (and champagne from a bottle that someone had sprayed) that just wouldn't be pleasant a few hours from now.

            Ken hung back, chatting with Alessandro, elated almost beyond reason.  As he wandered off to the shower he thought about the innocent, carefree happiness he was feeling, awed that he could once more feel such a simple emotion.  He had been sure that Weiss had killed that part of him, had pushed the Ken in him far out of the way while Siberian took the lead... but clearly his ability to bounce back was without limits.  J-League had been taken away, Kase's betrayal, a life of murder.. and he could still feel like a giddy kid who had just won his first soccer game.  Of course he'd won them in the past, but it'd been years, and he'd been so nervous, and...  The warm water didn't do much to chase away his rapid thoughts, tripping lightly over each other in a way that only made him laugh out loud in the shower.

            "God, I'm going to give myself a headache!"

            "Try not to.  You have a visitor," someone called from behind the door, and Ken pouted.

            "Can't a guy even talk to himself without anyone spying?"

            "No!" came the laughing reply, and Ken stuck his tongue out even though there was a door between him and his teammate. 

            The shower did more to emphasize that giddiness than to minimize its effects.  In loose jeans and a team t-shirt, hair damp and already falling out of the direction he'd combed it and skin glowing from a scrubbing, Ken was the embodiment of simple, carefree happiness.  He bounded out of the locker room with a grin on his face, intent on tackling whoever his visitor happened to be, as he assumed it'd be a friend.

            He was partially right, at any rate.  His sneakers skidded on the damp floor, momentum reversed to a dead standstill, all the joy wiped out of his expression and replaced by blank shock.

            The redhead kept appearing like a phantasm in Ken's life, whether of his own devices or by some twisted workings of the fates.  When he had first seen Ran on that frigid morning in New York he'd been dressed in sooty greys like a creature formed of mist and fire.  Now Ran had once more materialized like a wandering spirit when he least expected it, unconsciously striking in a way that drew the eye and caused the heart to flip strangely.  This time he wasn't in grey but in white, simple enough as pants and a tank top to battle the Brazilian heat.  He was facing away, looking out at the streetlights through a large window, his hip leaning gently against a support column and hands tucked casually into his pockets.

            Shock shifted direction, and Ken felt an unnatural anger boil up inside.  He long had it been?  Four months, five?  And now Ran suddenly chose to appear in Ken's life once more, a silent threat against stability both physical and emotional.  Once more things were on _his_ terms, not the brunette's.  Once more Ran wanted to set the rules, set the boundaries, take charge, take over.  An angry, quiet huff and Ken stormed out the opposite door, heading out towards where the team was getting into their cars.  Carlos was close by with his convertible and Ken didn't even ask permission, vaulting easily over the door and dropping into the passenger seat.  Music blared from the radio and Carlos just winked, clearly pleased at his luck tonight as far as company went, shifting the car into gear.  Ken didn't even care.  Carlos had been hitting on him for months now.  So what was he waiting for?

            Ken tucked his hands behind his head and propped his sneakers up on the dashboard, oblivious to the violet eyes that followed the path of the car as it peeled off into the night.  Screw it all.  He wasn't going to sit around hoping any longer.  Life had been shitty to him and now things had brightened.  He could either throw himself headfirst into living the life that was offered, or continue waiting for something that would never be.  Brown eyes glanced at Carlos, met a pair of hazel.  What they offered was so much simpler, so much more direct than anything he'd ever seen in eyes the color of amethyst.  Enough false hope, enough teasing, enough jumping at opportunities.  This was a sure bet, and right about now, Ken's ego could do with a few of those.

--+--

            Distantly, a roar sounded, reminiscent of heat lightning about to strike.  Instead, it was the frustrated sound of fangirls preparing to bombard the author with flames for another chapter filled with nothing but Aya-angst.  But!!  For once there was metaphorical light dangling like a carrot of desperate hope on the horizon.  ^_~

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            Ken hadn't even acknowledged his presence.  He must have seen him; Ran had only turned around for a moment, trying to figure out what he would say, how he would apologize, and by the time the door had slammed it'd been too late.  There was no point in following him, even if he had a way to do so.  Ken didn't want to see him, and frankly, Ran couldn't blame him.  He'd acted like a royal asshole, and whether that was intentional or otherwise was completely besides the point.

            That was it, then.  No final goodbye, no chance to redeem himself.  Just the knowledge that he'd had so much offered to him on a silver platter, had it all within reach, and had fumbled so badly that he had lost it all without even--

            "You look like someone kill your dog!"

            Violet eyes blinked, startled out of further wallowing by a rather overly-friendly arm slung around his shoulders.  He found himself looking into the dark brown eyes of a Brazilian, the man's accent heavy but his English clear enough.

            "Oh, did I use a wrong word?" he asked, pouting in deep thought.  "_Cachorro_.  Dog.  Right?"

            Ran frowned, trying to ease out from under the man's arm.

            "I wouldn't know.  I don't speak Portuguese.  Now if you don't mind..."

            But the Brazilian just held on tighter, laughing, and poked a finger into his ribs.

            "Oh, come on!  Don't run away so fast!  You're just going to sit there and look so sad, yes?  Life is so tough, he doesn't even look at you, he run off with someone else.  Right?"

            Now Ran was getting angry.  He scowled, shoving the other man's arm off of his shoulders.

            "I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

            "Which is why you're growling, yes?"  The Brazilian grinned, looking very proud of himself.  "Your name is Ran, but Ken sometimes call you 'Aya' and then fixe-- no, 'corrects' is the right word, _sim_? -- corrects himself, and he looks at the phone and then he looks so sad, so sad."

            That definitely got the redhead's attention, amethyst-colored eyes narrowing.

            "Who are you?"

            "Ah!  So rude of me."  The Brazilian scooped Ran into a bone-crushing hug before the other could escape.  "My name is Alessandro."  He stepped back, getting a blank look.  "...Alessandro del Toro.  You know, the goalie?  I play football with Ken."

            It clicked after a moment.  "You're the one who got hurt."

            Alessandro rolled his eyes.  "Is this the only fame I have anymore?  No more roses, no more women sending me ten-page-long sonnets of love, no more face in the paper... all I get is a bitter American tell me 'you're the one who got hurt.'  Oh, I'm so crushed."  

            Ran arched an eyebrow.   "Right.  I have a taxi to catch."  He headed for the door, pushing it open.  He didn't have time for this, not right now.  He needed to go home, lose himself in his work, and-- shit.  He couldn't even do that.  Maybe he could head to Vienna after all.  Maybe that would be distraction enough to dull the sinking sense of pain that was already starting to build up.

            "You haven't lost him yet, _amigo_.  Are you so stupid that you're going to lose him now?"

            Ran stopped, his back to the Brazilian and his hand on the door handle.

            "You can listen to me, or you can waste more time.  Ken is angry, you can see this much.  When he is angry, he likes to do stupid things, again this is something you know."  Ran turned slowly, looking at Alessandro with a somewhat grudging respect.  Alessandro clearly knew Ken as well as, or even better than, Ran himself did.  "He is not the sort of man who does well when he is alone.  He was alone for a long time, I think.  Before he work with you, during that time, even now when he has so many people to choose from.  And then he waited for you a long time, too.  I think maybe he doesn't want to wait anymore.  So tell me, _amigo_.  Will you swallow some pride?  Or would you rather he go home with a Carlos at the end of the night?"

--+--

            The bar was a sauna, steam replaced by cigar and cigarette smoke to create a noxious air pressure thick enough to lean on.  The press of people didn't help to air it out, either, and it wasn't easy to make out anyone's features because the heaviest cloud of internal smog hung right around head-level.  The press of humanity was probably more than the smoke the cause of such sensations of stifling that those who were even slightly sober -- and they were by far the minority -- felt so clearly.  It felt as if every new person that came in made the bar's walls and joints creak in protest, though any such creaking had no hope of being heard over the exuberant, deafening buzz of happy drunk men and music blasting from speakers near the ceiling,.  Any potential restraint had been tossed to the wind when the bartender -- in his official, signed team jersey, an obvious fan -- had climbed up on the bar and announced that all drinks for the team were on the house.  After the initial roar and storming of the bar -- the effects of said storming alleviated somewhat by two players skilled in basic mixology hopping over the bar -- everyone had settled into the sort of single-minded flavor of activity often characterized by bees in hives, though instead of working for any sort of survival everyone seemed to exist instead to celebrate victory with every single other individual in the bar.

            Ken sat on the edge of the bar counter, legs dangling over the edge.  Carlos had positioned himself on the barstool directly in front, effectively sitting between the brunette's knees.  One of his elbows rested on Ken's thigh, his other hand balancing a mug of beer and once in a while venturing to caress a bit of tan skin, much of it available since the shirt the bartender was wearing had come off of Ken's back.  Ken chatted amiably with Carlos, hitting back enough vodka shots that he found himself giddily toying with the other man's gold chain, with his messy black hair.  The texture repeatedly startled him, sleek but not nearly to the degree that crimson silk strands had felt against his skin... but all those thoughts got pushed out of the way by alcohol and conversation, and by the time that Alessandro found him Ken had moved down from the bar counter to straddle Carlos' lap on the stool instead, arms wrapped around his neck as he leaned in for a deep, sensual kiss that made the other man groan in approval.

            "Ken."

            The brunette didn't look up.  One of Carlos' hands was on his ass, thumb tucked into one of his belt loops, the other tangled in his sun-streaked hair, mussing it beyond redemption.

            "Ken, I need to talk to you."

            Ken broke the kiss, brown eyes languid and hazed over with liquor.  Both he and Carlos turned to face Alessandro though neither seemed to consider disentangling a feasible option.

            "Hey.  I'm kinda busy right now, let's talk later."  Ken reached behind him, grabbing two more shots.  He handed one to his erstwhile partner and hit back the other, wiping his knuckles across his mouth.  Alessandro frowned lightly, needing to lean in to be heard over all the noise.  He pointed across the crowd.

            "Talk to him."

            Ran was barely visible in the gloomy, smoke-filled atmosphere, though his immobile white-clad figure finally contrasted enough against the opposite wall, violet eyes appearing from this distance like two dark beads, cold and unwelcoming.  Ken laughed bitterly, nuzzling back against Carlos' cheek.

            "Tell him to go fuck himself."

            Alessandro's hand was suddenly on his wrist, strong and angry.

            "I'm not asking you, _amigo_.  I'm telling you.  Go talk to him."  Ken tried to pull away, but Alessandro adamantly hung on, dark eyes dead serious.  "It's not an option.  Trust me enough to swallow your stupidity and listen to what he has to say.  If you don't agree, then by all means resume what you were doing.  But he deserves a few minutes of your time."

            "It's funny how he thinks he can just intrude on my time only when he pleases."

            "Ken..."

            "Fine.  Just to get you to shut up."

--+--

End ch. 5.  n_n Please don't kill me. *koff*

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